Apathy and Vigor

by Faye Hall

  Turning away from the mirror, she continued on her direction toward the office, her mind shifting over what she would tell Tristen about where she had been the last couple of hours. Maybe she should just tell him the truth and hope for the best. Even as she thought the words, she knew she couldn’t do such a thing. Despite his broken attitude, she had already seen Tristen go into a rage when he saw her with Carter. He would react no better should he discover she had been living with Bastian these last couple of months.

  When she reached Tristen’s bedroom, she stopped, wondering if she was overreacting to her summons to see him. What if all he wanted to see her about were fresh towels for his room, and not her absence from the station? Stepping toward the door, she opened it, deciding she should check on everything in there first before going to meet Tristen in the study next door. If nothing else, it would give her a short while longer to get her thoughts in order before she had to meet him.

  She really was tired of all the secrecy and deception. This wasn’t how she wanted to live the rest of her life. Besides, after everything she shared with Tristen, both in the past and now, he deserved so much more than to be lied to. Pushing the door open, she decided that no matter the reason for her summons, she would have to find the strength she needed to tell him the truth about why she was there at the station and pray he cared enough for her to forgive her.

  Amalie’s hand fell away from the door handle, her gaze glued to the fully naked image of Tristen, his back toward her. Her gaze moved over him, studying the man he had become these last few months. He had always been a handsome man, but there was something about him now that lit a fire in her unlike anything she ever felt before.

  As her eyes shifted across his shoulders and down his back, she immediately noticed the scarred flesh there, relics from the fire that had nearly taken his life. Bastian told her repeatedly Tristen had become a monster after the fire, but she couldn’t see it. All she could see was the man she once loved, so desperate to be distant from the world and pain around him.

  She’d struggled these last few months with being told Tristen had become a heartless, brutal man who cared for nothing but the profits he could take from those he did business with. In the short time she had been living at the station, she hadn’t seen any sign of such a man though. All he had shown her was passion and emotions so much more tender than those she once yearned to receive from him.

  Clearing her throat, unable to think of the words that were needed to announce herself, Amalie waited for him to turn and face her. He quickly reached for the robe beside him as if desperate to cover his nakedness. By the time he was facing her, he was covered and fastening the robe at his waist. Watching him, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the confident, young man she’d once known.

  “What happened to your face?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve been struck.”

  “It’s nothing. I had an accident of a kind.”

  He eyed her, studying her face. “Did that happen while you were off seeing whoever sent that message to you?”

  She knew he would ask, but this wasn’t what she wanted to talk about now. Despite her decision to confess everything to him upon meeting with him, having walked in on him as she had, Amalie found herself caring about nothing but this man.

  “I was just checking you had everything in here before I came to meet you in your study as you requested,” she explained. “I didn’t realize you would be in your room, or I would have announced myself.”

  “It is I who owe you an apology, Amalie. I had every intention of being bathed and dressed properly to receive you when you returned to the station. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  She reached for the door and shut it before stepping toward him. Stopping in front of him, she started to reach out to him, needing to touch him and remind him that she had no objection to his nakedness. Just as her fingertips were about to touch him, he stepped away from her and out of her reach.

  She didn’t try to hide the pain his actions caused her. “Even after I have been in your bed, you would pull away from me?” she questioned him. “I don’t understand.”

  He averted his eyes from her stare.

  His silence confused her. “Have I given you reason to think I do not desire you?” she asked, needing to know why he was doing this.

  His fingers went to the scar on his cheek as if automatic. Finally, he turned his gaze back to her. “I’m not the kind of man any woman truly desires,” he admitted. “Nor am I the man you once welcomed so willingly into your bed almost a year ago. So much has changed…I have changed.”

  Nodding, she knew he was right. “Yes, a lot has changed for both of us. None of that has changed the way you make me feel though.”

  As she said the words, she knew they were a lie. What she felt for him was different—it was so much stronger than before. Closing the distance between them, she reached out to him, her fingers lightly running down his bare chest revealed through the slight opening of the robe. She tried to push the fabric aside to reveal more of him, but he quickly caught her hand, holding it firmly in his.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze narrowing as he eyed her intently.

  Despite what sent her there, Amalie now found herself wanting to rescue this man from his apathy. She needed to remind him of the man he’d once been and the man she had been willing to sacrifice everything for.

  “I’m showing you just how wrong you are.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and dark. “Of all the things that sent you back to me, I’m certain bedding me wasn’t part of it.”

  “That is true, yet I no longer care much for what brought me here. I care more that I found you again.”

  He let go of her hand, his fingers going to his scarred face. “I don’t think you expected to find this.”

  She lifted her shirt from the waistband of her jeans, revealing the reminder of just what a monster was really capable of. “We all have scars, Tristen.”

  He reached out to her, his fingers running along the inch-long scar. “You didn’t have that before.”

  She lowered her shirt. “I got into some trouble a while ago. The person who came to my rescue turned out to be a bigger monster than he was a savior.”

  “A man did this to you?”

  She nodded. “Most men demand a woman share their bed as payment for their help. It seems the man who found me had other ideas.”

  Tristen was silent as he studied her, and she knew he was trying to understand her cryptic admission.

  “I didn’t offer you a place to stay just so you would share my bed.”

  “I never assumed you did,” she told him honestly. “Nor did I think after everything I was told about you that I would find myself willing to ever let you touch me again, but I did.”

  “I know someone sent you here. Was it the man who hurt you?” he asked. “Were you supposed to be some bait for a trap he intends for me?”

  If she answered him, telling him how right he was, he would certainly turn away from her and demand she leave the station. She couldn’t risk that happening, not until she discovered who could have lit the fire that killed Jacob and could have been intended for Tristen.

  Deciding the truth could wait another day, she took a step closer to him. “Why I came here doesn’t matter. What matters is I have stayed because of you.”

  He smirked at her words, but the look on his face told her he felt no humor. “Don’t bullshit me, Amalie. I’m not some lovesick fool desperate for company in my bed. You said yourself that when you came here, you believed I was responsible for killing your brother. Whatever has kept you here isn’t your fondness for me. If you truly felt anything for me all those years ago, you wouldn’t have spent the last few months without me.”

  “That wasn’t my choice,” she told him.

  “Nor was it mine. I loved you, Amalie, and you abandoned me.” No sooner had he yelled the words, he turned
away from her.

  Watching his shoulders move heavily, it was obvious he was trying to calm himself. Her steps were cautious as she moved to stand behind him. Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she ran them affectionately down his back, caressing his cloth-covered skin.

  “Even if I thought you were guilty of Jacob’s death, you’ve already punished yourself more than I ever could have.”

  Still, he stayed silent, his breathing deep.

  “You need to believe me when I tell you I regret being distanced from you more than you will ever know,” she said.

  He turned to face her, his expression making his frustration obvious. Grabbing her hands, he pushed her back against the wall. “I do not want your pity.”

  She gazed at him, not fighting against his hold. “And what about my love?”

  His gaze held hers, and she could see he was looking for any sign of a lie in her eyes.

  Lifting her leg, she ran her foot lightly against his bare leg. “You have always been a desirable man, Tristen. If you think your scars have changed that, then you are very much mistaken.”

  His hands still around her wrists, he leaned into her, his lips taking hers hesitantly, and she had no doubt he was testing to see if she meant what she’d said. She returned his kiss with incredible hunger, desperate to show this man the feelings he created in her. When finally his grip on her hands loosened, she pulled free from him and began eagerly pulling at his robe, eager for it to fall to the ground and reveal his handsome form to her again.

  His arms went around her, picking her up, her legs astride him, folding on top of his rear. He walked her back toward his bed, her feet sliding down his legs to the floor, his hands pulling at the fastening on her jeans. Her hands went to his, helping him to rid her of the fabric.

  Lying down on the bed with her, he cupped her rear with one hand, the other sliding between her legs to stroke her wet slit. As he pushed a single digit inside of her slowly, her body stiffened against him, a slight gasp escaping her. Pulling his finger from her, he lifted it to his mouth, licking her juice off before inserting it into her again, his movement slow and measured.

  She pushed against his hand, moaning in pleasure as she started unbuttoning her blouse. His hands left her and went to her blouse, his movements seeming almost desperate as he tried to pull it up to reveal her to him. Unable to access the item properly, he moved her to sit astride him, his fingers pulling at her blouse buttons.

  Her hips moving, she positioned her quim against his throbbing cock. When his hands quickly shifted to her hips, she wasn’t sure if he would stop her or guide her slowly around him. She knew her actions were bold, but she couldn’t act the coy female with this man. She wanted him to know just how much she hungered for the feel of him inside her.

  Resting her hands on his chest, she pushed against him, her sheath engulfing him. His hands on her hips guided her movements as she moved him in and out of her, again and again, until her body began to shiver and she arched her back.

  Amalie surrendered to her release, her juices flowing on him as her quim pulsated around him. His grip on her hips tightened, a groan of pleasure escaping him. As he poured his seed inside her, another wave of pleasure washed over her.

  * * * *

  Amalie lay next to Tristen, his arms around her holding her tight. It was so like what it had been like in their youth, each desperate for the feel of the other. There was something very different though.

  Looking at his face as sleep consumed him, she couldn’t help but think of the pain this man had suffered these last few months. Had she only known what he was going through… She had been a fool. Her grief allowed her to go along with so much of what others told her—the lies they wanted her to believe—keeping her distanced from the man she loved.

  Moving carefully out of his arms, she stood from the bed and reached for her clothes. Quickly dressing, she thought of how she would go about learning just who could have wanted them both to suffer so much. Remembering the heroin bottles she found in the room she was staying in—Tristen’s old room—she wondered if he might have hidden something in there that could shine some light on this mystery. She didn’t expect there to be any proof, because by Tristen’s own admission he was still searching for the killer himself. What she hoped she might find was some clue as to who Tristen may have become involved with over the years. He had done a lot of business for his father before the fire, so there was every chance he could’ve made just as many enemies.

  Quietly leaving the room, she hurried down the hallway to her own room and walked inside, shutting the door behind her. Walking over to the drawer where she found the pill bottles, she opened it and searched for anything else. Nothing. Maybe what she was searching for didn’t exist.

  Walking over to the wardrobe, she opened it to place her shoes inside. As she threw her shoes on the floor, one of them tumbled and hit the drawer beside it, making a strange sound. She squatted down to right her shoe before tapping the drawer with her knuckles. It sounded hollow. She took hold of the handle and pulled it, but it didn’t budge. It obviously hadn’t been opened in quite a while. She pulled again, harder this time, and finally the drawer moved a little, enough for her to see newspaper clippings inside.

  Her curiosity driving her, she squeezed her hand inside and pulled fourth what she could grab. Taking the papers to her bed, she sat on the edge and laid them out across the mattress in front of her.

  There were clippings about Jacob and Amanda’s death. Also the printed stories about the death of his parents and her own father. There was even the announcement of her engagement to Bastian Tanner. Tristen kept it all. Shuffling through the articles, she then saw the clipping about the death of Albert Heather. Had Tristen known the man she murdered?

  Returning to the drawer, she struggled to open it further. When finally she did, she found an envelope shoved to the back. Reaching for it, she brought it to her line of sight, turning it to see who it might have been addressed to. Her name was written on it in Tristen’s handwriting, and underneath was a note to try the Anabranch Hotel, which had been crossed out and over it was written Return to Sender in large print. Hesitantly, she opened the letter, its seal having already been broken when she found it. Pulling out the parchment, she unfolded it and began to read.

  She knew immediately when she looked at the handwriting that this had been written by Tristen. What she couldn’t understand was why it was hidden away in here and not with the other letters in his study. It made no sense. Her gaze skimming over the words, she began to feel sick in her stomach.

  Tristen wrote that he knew about Albert and his reputation with the women who worked for him. He said that she could come to him and he would help her, no questions asked about her involvement in the old man’s death. She would have even been given an alibi if she needed it. Turning the page, tears filled her eyes as she read what she always wanted to hear from him...I will always keep you safe.

  Taking the letter with her, she went and curled up on her bed. Bastian never told her about the letter or that Tristen had offered her help. All Bastian ever told her was that he was the only one who knew the truth of what she did to Albert Heather. That he was the only one who understood and would want to help her. He’d held this offer of pity, and the constant threat of going to the authorities to confess her sin, over her head ever since. The worst thing was, if she didn’t find the papers Bastian was so desperate for soon, she feared he would come there to see Tristen himself.

  Holding the letter close to her heart, Amalie allowed her tears to fall. She had done Tristen a great disservice and she had to right it as soon as possible before she lost him again, this time forever.

  * * * *

  Amalie woke the next morning, the letter she found last night still in her hands, the newspaper articles scattered around her on the bed. Sitting up, she gathered the papers up and placed them in the drawer where she’d found them. Whatever she had been told these past few months about Tristen, she knew fo
r almost certainty that none of it was true. He may not be the man she remembered, but he wasn’t a monster either.

  Going to the basin of cold water in her room, she washed quickly and changed into fresh clothes. As she righted her hair, she sighed heavily. She was so scared of what would happen when she told Tristen what actually sent her there to his station, but she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Buttoning her shirt, she left her room and walked heavily down the hall to Tristen’s room. Knocking softly, she waited until she heard his firm bid for her to enter. She tried to quell her fear as she turned the handle, unsure how she would be received.

  “Tristen,” she addressed him as she walked into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I think we need to talk.”

  He continued to stand where he had been when she entered, his back to her, his dressing gown draped around him.

  “Where did you go last night?” he asked, not turning to face her.

  Her hands nervously fidgeted with each other. “I went back to my room.”

  He nodded. “Why?”

  She bit her lip. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Finally, he turned to face her, his expression cold. “You would be surprised what I’m capable of understanding.”

  Chapter 14

  Tristen stood studying Amalie, trying to hide the pain he was feeling over waking up in his bed alone. He could see how nervous she was, and he knew it was because of him. Still, he wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t. He was tired of being lied to by Amalie. One moment she was melting in his arms, begging him to give her pleasure, and the next she was sneaking away from him as if she was some prisoner escaping her captor.

  “I couldn’t stay in your bed all night, Tristen. Laying there watching you sleep...it made me feel—”

  “If the sight of me repulses you so very much, why do you keep coming back to my bed?” he demanded to know. “If you came to this station for a reason, then tell me. You don’t have to whore yourself to me just to obtain it.”